


Without Time

by FreckledSkittles



Series: Because Of You, I Have Company [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Basketball, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Romance, shout out to college basketball, sonny just wants to hang with rafael lmao, they did the dirty but haven't discussed it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: He followed Rafael like a stray labrador puppy, feeding off of praise when he did something right. He had—has—a starry-eyed innocence that Rafael couldn’t help but appreciate, almost bringing up memories of his younger lawyer days, albeit straight from the oven of an Italian bakery on Staten Island. Rafael didn’t mind the shadow; he was smart, and he studied the law and took it seriously, and he genuinely wanted to help others.It was after Sonny passed the bar exam, and after he confirmed he would be staying at SVU, that Rafael recognized their relationship as something beyond a mentor-student level.Perhaps a basketball game was not the best opportunity to start this conversation.





	Without Time

**Author's Note:**

> My first Barisi fic! I got stuck in this wonderful hole and I refuse to get out :) I got inspired to write something when I saw that Fordham's women's basketball team was in the tournament and then this happened. But rest assured, I have more for this universe ;)
> 
> Shout out to hollandlovely on Tumblr, my roommate, for beta-ing this and dealing with my screams of lawyer boyfriends for the past couple months

Rafael always thought that the cliches of relationships were ridiculous and overbearing in their entirety. The feeling of longing as soon as a partner walked out of sight. The struggle of combing through miles of shirts in preparation for a night out. The desire to rub bare flesh together and listen with rapt attention to the lullabies produced by heartbeats. Rafael always thought it was silly.

He does not acknowledge the joy that sprouts in his chest as he watches Sonny’s car pull up to the curb, in front of Rafael’s apartment building. He ignores the hope that the ninth sweater, fourth maroon shirt, he had picked out is good enough for their day out. He certainly dismisses the touch of their hands as, after throwing his suitcase in the trunk and getting in the car, Sonny hands him a steaming Styrofoam cup.

“I figured you’d bring your own coffee,” Sonny says, nodding to the thermos currently slotted between Rafael’s knees, “but you can never be over-prepared.”

“Is that what they taught you at Fordham?” Rafael teases. He allows a small smirk to twitch up his lips as Sonny laughs dryly. They pull away from the curb and head east. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of silence while I wake up a bit more.”

Sonny shakes his head. There’s still a bit of light drowsiness stewing in his eyes. “Not at all. I gotta concentrate on getting us out of the city. Jeez, this traffic, you’d think it’d be a little kinder on a Saturday.”

A Saturday, one of the few that Rafael finds himself breathing without sex crimes rattling his brain. A Saturday that Sonny had danced around the squad room about, his grin only digging his dimples further into his cheeks when someone complained about his commotion. A Saturday that Sonny had encouraged Rafael to join him in watching Fordham’s women’s basketball perform in the national tournament—not at a bar, like Rollins or Fin assured, or at home, as Liv had stated. But four and a half hours away from the city in Syracuse, New York. They may as well be going to Canada.

Rafael busies himself with the paper, sipping at the coffee provided by Sonny, as they navigate their way through Manhattan. Rafael had suggested taking a Lyft to Sonny’s so they would be much closer to the George Washington Bridge and it saved Sonny a trip. But he insisted on picking Rafael up. He remembered the address from the last time—the one time—he had been to Rafael’s apartment. He had no trouble making the drive. It was flattering, and Rafael couldn’t help but linger on their exchanged texts. Even if it was through words, Sonny, endearing and convincing, was more than eager to pick him up.

They get out of Manhattan just fine. Rafael finishes off the coffee. Sonny stays quiet and keeps his eyes on the road, murmuring to himself at a particular driver that can’t seem to “use a steering wheel right.” It’s endearing how flustered he can get, the crease in his brow as he criticizes tourists hesitating on crosswalks and throws jabs at New Jersey license plates. Rafael enjoys the casual feeling of comfort he finds in the car, even as his road trip companion is less than pleasant. He had never been one to judge another’s crankiness.

“I hate the Turnpike,” Sonny mumbles under his breath once they get off of the George Washington Bridge. “It smells like a dump.”

“You could have gone up 87 north to White Plains,” Rafael comments leisurely. “Would have avoided Jersey altogether.”

“If you’re so upset by my decisions, you should drive.”

Rafael can’t help but laugh at his reaction. Sonny having road rage was endearing, in a way. Especially when his comebacks were as weak as that. “You can’t spell ‘Barba’ without barb for a reason.”

“Oh yeah? And I suppose your first name is Barbara?”

“You’ve discovered my secret.”

Sonny bangs his palm against the horn for a few good seconds and scowls at the car in front of them. “Make up your mind, Hoboken! You either sit in the middle of the road or you get off here!” When the car remains in the lane, its turn signal still blinking, Sonny sighs and merges to the next lane to continue onward. “Asshole.”

Rafael tries to stifle his laughter, letting a small chuckle slip out. “I didn’t think you’d have road rage.”

“Only when idiots are behind the wheel.” Sonny steals a glance in the rearview mirror. “Some people should never have a license.”

They fall into silence then. Sonny fiddles with the radio as he heads north, but he finds nothing interesting enough to stay on and plays whatever CD was loaded into the radio. Rafael turns to the view outside, nothing but road and cars and the remnants of city skylines. He briefly reviews their conversation with the chance of silence: he did not expect “endearing” to pop up in his vocabulary, no less to describe Sonny. They weren’t strangers, not after Sonny’s stint of shadowing and the guidance and sort of mentorship that continued after Sonny passed the bar, and the adventures they had taken beyond that, but there was something between them.

There were the quips that they shared: Sonny never seemed to stop talking, and Rafael liked to pick up on pieces of his babbling to turn it against him for friendly banter. There was a shift in their relationship that extended beyond the other detectives at SVU; Rafael viewed those transactions as blips at an ATM, coming for what he needs and then leaving when he gets it. Sonny made an effort to get beyond their work relationship, making conversation with references to other aspects of their lives. He shared his grandmother’s recipe when Rafael mentioned his mother dropping off a collection of Cuban dishes from his _abuelita_. On their way to court, Sonny pointed out the time he was twelve and his sisters dared him to jump off the Staten Island ferry to see if he could keep up with it. There was always something to say.

But Sonny talked to everyone. He planted pieces of himself in every word he uttered, to anyone who would listen, to those he wanted to share with. When Liv or Rollins shared stories of their children from the weekend, Sonny piped in with tales of his niece’s adventures to a similar park. If Fin was struggling to find a bakery to bring something to dinner with his son and his family, Sonny had a list ready. Sonny was genuine in every emotion he showed. Rafael could only recall his interrogations and undercover work as the one time he played someone he wasn’t. Maybe that’s why he was so good at it.

Rafael is brought back to the car when Sonny lowers the volume of his radio and clears his throat. “Sorry for yelling at you before,” he offers softly

“I wasn’t offended,” Rafael admits. “I know it wasn’t directed at me.”

“Good.” Sonny relaxes into his seat and a ghost of a smile pops up on his face.

Rafael nods to the radio. “I didn’t take you for a yacht rock fan.”

“A what rock fan?”

“Yacht rock. Hall and Oates.” Rafael forces the conversation to continue in an attempt at small talk and turns the music up again. He doesn’t want to resort to work talk if they’re on a weekend trip. Although he doesn’t recognize the song, he knows the voices anywhere.

“Oh.” Sonny rolls his shoulder with a lopsided grin. “They’re a guilty pleasure of mine. One of our family friends from my neighborhood growing up was raised in Philly, and no matter what the family function was, they always played Hall and Oates. Barbecues, graduations, baptisms, baby showers—they had mixtapes for everything.”

“They sound like an…” Rafael chooses his words wisely, “interesting group.”

“They are. But yeah, they were a big influence. This song actually…” Sonny stops short, and when Rafael looks at him, he’s bowing his head shyly and trying to stifle his laughter. “A year before I entered the academy, I asked someone out with this song.”

“Really?” The lyrics reference, rather cheesily, a lover’s kiss being on a list of “the best things in life.” Rafael can see the appeal, even if he is not entirely surprised that Sonny would pull such a move. “I hope you didn’t sing it to them.”

Sonny grins cheekily. “Bella talked me out of it. Which was probably for the best, since we had only kissed once before that—”

“Oh, Sonny.”

He throws his head back to laugh. “I’m a hopeless romantic, what can I say? It didn’t last long though. With all the work in the academy and then, y’know, jumping from precincts, I couldn’t have many long-term relationships.”

Rafael knows this. He hates that he does, and he hates the reminder because it makes him review the moment he found out: spread out on his couch, shirt half-raised up his chest, lips plump from kisses and parted for easier breaths. Sonny hovering over him as fear replaced the admiration on his face, leaning over to whisper that despite having spent time with both men and women, and despite being confident in his sexuality, the last relationship he had didn’t last his transfer to Manhattan SVU. The look of relief that graced the younger man’s face when Rafael reassured him with gentle words and slow touches that he didn’t mind, that his years as an ADA for two boroughs had limited him just as much. They didn’t have to rush into whatever their relationship was.

They hadn’t had much time to discuss it.

“I remember,” Rafael says. A further explanation is not needed, nor is it asked.

“Yeah. But, hey, still leaves my options open.” Sonny glances at his phone reading out instructions, and he heads east. “I can try it on someone else.”

“I think Bella meant to _never_ try it, not that you should _wait_ to try it.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, you got any questions for me?”

Rafael bites his lip just enough to stop himself from rolling his eyes; of course he would want to deflect, change the subject, not get roped into a discussion on how bad his decisions in wooing might be. Fine. Rafael lets him—for now. “I don’t know, should I?”

“I dunno.” It’s rather amusing how Sonny’s mannerisms bleed through his driving posture as he talks without even moving his head. He has both hands on the wheel, unwavering in their grip, and he sits tall in his seat, unwavering since they left the city. If Rafael had to guess, he would say Sonny has driven like that since his first driver’s ed class. He lets himself waver down his side profile once before he reels back any inappropriate thoughts. “I don’t wanna diss you, but I woulda guessed some questions from you. Mostly about basketball. Fordham. Fordham basketball.”

“I did a bit of research to answer what I didn’t already know. I figured your humble boasts about your alma mater have done enough.” It isn’t a lie—Rafael had browsed through a Google search to educate himself on some minor details. Their school colors were maroon and white, they were known as the Jesuit University of New York, they had an impressive night school if an SVU detective was anything to go by. But he also didn’t see much else that he had to learn.

Sonny laughs; a slight tint of red can be seen on his cheeks, but Rafael doubts it’s from a feeling of bashfulness or embarrassment. “Well, I’m no expert in everything Fordham. But I guess for this trip, the better question to ask would be if you know how basketball works.”

Rafael is only mildly offended; he had dribbled a ball with Alex and Eddie, although he always volunteered to keep scores when they challenged other kids in the Bronx. Even if he wasn’t the most athletic, he had a basic understanding of what was happening. “You dribble the ball, you pass it to the team wearing your uniform, you shoot it in the basket.” He glances over at Sonny, who’s pouting at the road in front of them. “It’s a competitive and extorted game of hot potato.”

Sonny opens and closes his mouth, nibbles on his lower lip, and he mumbles softly. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“I know.”

“Hey, that was not a compliment.” Sonny is smiling again, and Rafael is relieved to see it appear again. “You know there are three ways to score?”

Rafael reels back at him, clearly confused, but he runs the motions of the game through his head to remind himself what he was referring to. “Yes, I get that much. It’s not exactly complicated.”

“But it moves fast. Four quarters, ten minutes each, fifteen for halftime. I wanna make sure you’re prepared.”

“I’m flattered to know you’re thinking of me.”

Rafael means the words to sound like a joke. A simple teasing remark. Nothing beyond that boundary. And certainly not whatever causes Sonny to stutter and flush red. If he wasn’t already sitting ramrod straight, he might have sprung up strong enough to free his hair from the gel keeping it in place. “I, well, y’know, I just wanna make sure you’re good. I mean, well, you didn’t _have_ to come, but you did, and I want you to know what you’re in for.”

Rafael only hums in acknowledgment and stares back outside. Sonny is right in that he didn’t have to join him on the trip. There was no work obligation, they were not on a case, and there was no opinion on the inner workings of the law that Rafael needed to provide. Personally, Rafael had tried to not think of why he accepted the invitation in the first place. Giving it any more thought than he deemed necessary would have forced him to accept their relationship for what it truly was—and, try as he might to ignore it, what he wanted it to be.

He can’t place when it happened, and he doubts Sonny would be able to do the same. Their work relationship extended beyond what Rafael had experienced with the other SVU detectives when Carisi asked to shadow him. At that point in time, he was still teetering between becoming a lawyer or staying a cop, but he still wanted experience in a courtroom. Rafael didn’t mind providing that casual mentorship as long as it stayed that way. He had heard of too many eager-to-please students hopping into a prosecutor’s bed and leaving with a job, and while he didn’t think Carisi would stoop to such a level, at the time, he hadn’t been confident enough in his character to be sure of it.

And so Carisi shadowed him; he followed Rafael like a stray labrador puppy, feeding off of praise when he did something right. He had—has—a starry-eyed innocence that Rafael couldn’t help but appreciate, almost bringing up memories of his younger lawyer days, albeit straight from the oven of an Italian bakery on Staten Island. Rafael didn’t mind the shadow; he was smart, and he studied the law and took it seriously, and he genuinely wanted to help others.

It was after Sonny passed the bar exam, and after he confirmed he would be staying at SVU, that Rafael recognized their relationship as something beyond a mentor-student level.

Sonny wasn’t going to hop into his bed and ask for a job. Not because he wasn’t interested, but because his character was anything but that. He worked hard, he was committed to people, he thrived on their good fortune and being able to help them pick themselves off the ground after a harsh tragedy. Rafael was worried that a job like SVU would break him, and he would abandon the squad for a division without as much emotional baggage, but Sonny proved that he was passionate and strong enough to avoid that.

It was after the bar exam that their intimacy became clearer. Sonny liked calling him Rafael when it was just the two of them, teasing him with dimples and sparkling eyes. In the early stages, when Sonny asked for praise and Rafael shut him down in an attempt to humble him, he was met with sad eyes and a pout only puppies could master. Soon enough, Sonny picked up on quips and was able to fire them back with a sharp wit. Their words had soft innuendos hidden under a layer of flirtation and dancing around a question of what they were. Rafael wasn’t shy about being bisexual—he had long since embraced it—but it had never come up with Sonny. All he knew was what he had gathered from overheard conversations of a first boyfriend and context clues from flirtations.

“You doing anything exciting this weekend?” Carisi had asked one day after court. They were lingering outside of the courthouse after a win, and the squad was sharing their plans to celebrate. It couldn’t have been a year or so before Sonny’s invitation to Syracuse.

“I wanted to catch up on my loss of sleep,” Rafael admitted nonchalantly. He looked up at Carisi expectantly. “Maybe read something that isn’t court reports.”

Carisi glanced over at the rest of the squad. “Sounds nice. Do you have any dinner plans?”

Rafael sensed there was something greater the detective wanted to get to, and after the battle they had had in court, cutting to the chase would have been better for him. “If you’re trying to hide something, you’re better off getting it out.”

Carisi jumped at the demand, but a playful smile quirked on his lips. “If you’re not doing anything for dinner, you can come to my place. I’m making a proper Italian meal for the squad, free of charge.”

“Is that so?” Rafael couldn’t help the curious raise of his eyebrows, and he took a cautious step forward. “Well, you caught my attention. Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just your presence and an empty stomach.” Carisi’s smile was blinding; Rafael was aware of his dimples, but that look he gave him on the courthouse steps was different. He saw how deep they went, he witnessed the accompanying shine to his eyes, he felt the spread of warmth that dissolved in his chest. It was startling to feel how much one interaction could get a reaction so strong from him.

The squad dinner was pleasant. Noah and Jessie gave a performance to some Sinatra records after dinner, Fin had new photos of his grandson to show off, and Sonny made a fantastic meal. What topped it off for Rafael was their goodbyes, when Sonny had walked him down to his Lyft, the last to leave, and their hands brushed together. A cheesy rom-com might have suggested their eyes showed off the desire they both had to close the distance, to capture his lips, to clear the air and talk over the bridge between them. But nothing happened, aside from their lingering grasp when Rafael got in the cab, and the goodnight texts they shared before they went to their respective beds to sleep.

The next time they saw each other was that following Tuesday when Carisi delivered some papers he requested to his office. They ended up making out in Rafael’s office and spilling coffee on his rug, and Carmen eyed Carisi’s ruffled hair and wrinkled tie when he walked out, but it was worth it. Their flirting picked up, their gazes stayed longer and their nights alone drifted to each other’s beds, but they always stopped short of discussing what it meant. Sometimes, Rafael liked to think it didn’t matter.

Other times, mostly when they parted ways, Rafael cursed himself for not talking about it in the first place.

 

* * *

 

Rafael dozes off until they get to a town about an hour outside of Syracuse. His eyes are too bleary to look at the car’s dashboard and check the time, but Sonny’s promise of a pastry and some coffee to fuel the rest of their road trip motivate him to get out of the car. Rafael stands and blinks his eyes rapidly to clear them of his drowsiness.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” Sonny teases. His shoulder brushes lightly against Rafael’s. The shirt he’s wearing is faded, with his alma mater’s name spread across his chest. Maroon looks good on him.

“It would have been better if someone was better at driving,” Rafael comments. He makes clear of his teasing intent with a smirk and sly wink.

“Keep talking and you can walk to Syracuse.”

They grab a drink and snack at the cafe Sonny had found—Rafael pays before Sonny can even blink—and they’re back on the road. With more coffee to fuel them and something to hold them over for the rest of the drive, there is a higher sense of urgency to arrive. Even if Rafael isn’t sure of what the game—or, more specifically, after the game—will entail, he is curious to see what a college game looks like in person. The most he heard was news coverage every March, and even then, New York seemed busier with its professional teams. He grew up on baseball thanks to his mother, used it as a sort of therapy when their home life got stifling, but that was the Yankees. He was attending a game for the Fordham Rams. It was nothing against Fordham, but professional and collegiate sports were simply different.

“Did you ever go to see Harvard play when you were in college?”

Sonny asks the question casually. As they get closer to Syracuse, he becomes jumpy with excitement, his fingers strumming on the wheel. If he wasn’t distracted by the question, Rafael might have smiled at the little tic. “What do you mean?”

“When you were in college, and Harvard played—what are you guys, the Reds or whatever?”

“How would I know?”

“Well, I’m just asking, did you go to any sporting events?”

“If I have a limited interest in sports now, then you should guess that I definitely didn’t have one during college.”

Sonny pauses in thought before he shrugs and gives his answer. “Alright, fair enough. So you didn’t.”

“Why would anyone going to Harvard have an interest in their sports teams?” Personally, Rafael was too busy proving himself and holding himself to the highest standards he could achieve to look at football scores or stop by the basketball arena to catch a game.

“Plenty of smart schools are invested in their sports. Duke, Stanford, Vanderbilt—well, okay, Vanderbilt is an exception, they only show up for baseball, but still!”

“Those aren’t Ivy Leagues. And my point still stands: we don’t attend university to cheer on sports teams. We attend for higher education.”

“Oh, Rafael.” Sonny shakes his head, and he gives him a wispy smile. His tone is endearing, a bit teasing, but the jest is overshadowed by the affection. “I never thought I’d see the day where I become the mentor.”

Rafael scowls at him. It does nothing to stop Sonny’s beam, and he hopes it never does. “Don’t push your luck, Carisi.”

“Now that’s just cheap. I thought we agreed, no work titles. That includes last names.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you weren’t so patronizing.”

“Comes with the title of ‘mentor.’”

Well. That is a fair point, even if the thought of being patronizing to Sonny makes Rafael’s stomach churn. Initially, he had been that way to keep up with work appearances. He had to seem that way—or, technically, he had to act a certain way for his point to come across. Then again, it is amusing to see Sonny turn a previously-used tactic against him. Even if it is for a game of lousy sports. “Touché.”

They arrive at Syracuse University with about an hour left before the game starts. Sonny gets them to the arena and to a parking lot watched by what must be the university’s parking services. Rafael half-expects a proper arena, like Madison Square Garden, but is surprised to find a domed stadium instead.

“That’s the Carrier Dome,” Sonny explains as they get out of the car, possibly reading the look on his face. “I did some research this week. Syracuse has their football team, both basketball teams, and their lacrosse team play in the same place. It seats over thirty thousand.”

Rafael practically whips his head around at that number. It sounded…exaggerated to him. There was no way that many seats could be set up on a university—and for athletic purposes, no less. “Thirty thousand for a college sports arena?” When Sonny nods, a confused look on his face, Rafael scoffs. “Do they open the dome for baseball?”

Sonny grins and starts walking. Rafael, despite being a few inches shorter, has no trouble falling in step with him. “From what I’ve read, it’s the only arena that does that. Y’see, typically, basketball teams use the same place, right? But it’s trickier for other sports.”

“It makes sense. It starts snowing up here earlier and stays longer than in other parts of the state.”

“Right, so why not make it easier for the teams? ‘Sides, it’s not the craziest thing I’ve heard. Wisconsin doesn’t even have a baseball team. And Mississippi State rings cowbells at their sporting events.”

Rafael falters, slow enough that Sonny stops to check on him. “They ring…cowbells?” He is struck by the fact, if only for a minute, that he is definitely out of his element. He understands the concept of state-run universities and their popularity, and he can wrap his head around an interest in rooting for one’s alma mater. But beyond the Ivy Leagues and Fordham, he knows nothing. If he were to take a wild guess, Rafael would say he has barely scratched the surface.

Sonny chuckles and waves Rafael forward. Their hands brush together for an instant, but they jump away before anything further can be done. Instead, Sonny occupies him with the greater details of collegiate sports. Most of his experience has come from Fordham and weekends with Amanda, who, according to Sonny, has emphasized the greater impression of college sports that are made down south. However, he still knows more than Rafael, and he lets Sonny lead them through the arena to their seats and through the inner details of how it works. They stick to basketball—Rafael is already overwhelmed with the presence of orange around them and the sound in the arena, and any more teams or sports in unfamiliar territory was tempting to the part of him that revels in the face of challenges. But if they were attending a basketball game, it would be better to stick to that.

Halfway through an explanation on what would happen if Fordham were to win the game, as announcements are being read over the loudspeaker, Sonny digs through his phone to show Rafael a list of teams displayed in a bracket. He waits until there is a moment of silence from the announcer before he speaks.

“So every March, after the regular season ends, the best teams are put into one big bracket that’s split into four regions,” Sonny explains. He passes his phone over and shifts closer to Rafael. There is enough space for the two of them in their seats, but as Sonny reaches over to gesture to the screen, Rafael hopes the burning in his cheeks can be passed off as heat from the lack of air conditioning. “So, see, we’re in a regional for Portland, and we’re the fourteenth seed, playing against the third seed.”

“Tough competition,” Rafael remarks. His smile is taut, barely reaching his eyes, but if Sonny notices, he doesn’t comment.

“You should see the top seed. Mississippi State only has two losses for the entire year, and they broke a hundred points yesterday.” Sonny points to the team at the top of the regional. “So they’ll play Clemson tomorrow, and whoever wins that game will go to Portland for the sweet sixteen.”

“And from there, the elite eight.” Rafael gestures to the next seeding for the bracket. “And then the final four, which leads to the championship.”

The light from Sonny’s grin is blinding. “An old dog _can_ learn new tricks.” Rafael digs his heel into Sonny’s foot for the comment, just barely biting back a laugh. “Amanda has roped me, Fin, _and_ Amaro into filling out brackets with her. The person with the best bracket has to cook dinner. Or pay for it, in Nick’s case.”

“So the winner—” Sonny grimaces at the wording, moving his hand in a way that suggests it may or may not be the best wording. “What, it’s not about winning?”

“Not really. I mean, think about it, trying to guess the one team out of sixty-four that is gonna win? It’s impossible, even if you have the best teams. These seed placements don’t mean anything.”

Rafael looks out at the court; both teams had come out and were either dribbling the ball or lingering in a team huddle. The clock overhead was counting down from five minutes before the game started. “So Fordham could beat Syracuse.”

“Look. Last year, Virginia’s men got their asses handed to them by a team seeded at sixteen. It’s the first time a one-seed lost to a sixteenth seed. And the year before that, the longest winning streak was broken by a team that two years before didn’t even have a shot at a one seed like it does today. That’s what sold college basketball for me. The seeds only decide the teams you play. And sure, you can argue it’s a reflection of the year you had, but if you have the right energy and enough opportunities, you can pull off an upset.”

The announcements return then, and they stand for the national anthem, but Rafael pays little attention to the words or movements. He drifts through the starting lineups, reacting with a jolt when Sonny cheers or claps beside him, but he stays quiet. The arena has trapped sound inside and created a cluster of noise that almost hurts; the cheers from the home crowd are a little intimidating. Rafael feels a sense of pride rising in his chest as Fordham’s starting five gather in a circle before they position themselves for the tip-off. This isn’t his team, and it’s certainly not his alma mater, but there is genuine excitement in his chest and a strong swell of hope for this to go well.

Rafael is aware of the professional basketball teams in New York; he attended one Nets game when he still worked in Brooklyn, and he got updates from his mother about the Knicks. He never stepped foot in Madison Square Garden with the intent to watch a couple of men throw balls at each other or hit tiny round discs with long sticks. At most, he is familiar with the easy air and precise actions of baseball: hitting the ball a certain way will send it in different directions, but the chance of a mitt catching it or going over outfielders is unclear until it happens. Baseball is still a sport, and it may prove to be unpredictable, but it is not basketball.

The players move quickly on the court, their sneakers sliding against the slick wood and drowning out the dribbles of the orange ball. When Syracuse has the ball, the crowd erupts and chants, hollering for the Orange to play well or rooting for defense when possession changes. Sonny is vocal and loud throughout both possessions, as are a few other fans around them, and when a basket is made from the three-point arc, benched players and fans react with three fingers held up on both hands to match the referee’s call. When he was younger, Rafael liked how he often lost sight of home run balls as they made their way over the field and into the bleachers. But the large basketball moves as quick as a fastball; a block is made by Syracuse, and Rafael registers it a few seconds too late.

Before he knows it, the quarter is halfway over.

“You said this was fast,” Rafael says to Sonny as the teams return to their benches for a timeout. He knew what to expect from a basketball game, but he hardly expected his attention to be so laser-focused on the ball and wishing for it to land in the basket. “I didn’t think it was like _this_.” Sonny just laughs.

The score had gone back and forth for a bit, but a three-pointer from Fordham puts them ahead. Sonny grabs his knee, though Rafael doesn’t move it or flinch, and Sonny doesn’t hurry away. The squeeze is comforting, a reassurance that this could happen, if only for a moment. The quarter ends a little under two minutes after the three-pointer, but it feels less than that. Rafael checks his phone for the time, just to be sure.

He notices Sonny also on his phone, and he recognizes the quirk of his lips, but he notices far too late the rise of a phone and the front-facing camera in play before the photo is taken. Rafael reaches to stop Sonny from sending it, but the picture is on its way before he can.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Fin and Amanda,” Sonny reassures him. There’s still a twist of mischief in his eyes, but the smile helps cool Rafael’s mood. He blames the dimples. “They wanted proof that you were at a sporting event that wasn’t sponsored by the DA’s office.”

“My mother won tickets to the Subway Series once,” Rafael points out, rather childishly, as if that will help his case. “I’m not ignorant to the inner workings of Hot Potato.”

“Yeah, but who will believe me if I only have my word that you joined me on a road trip to Syracuse for Fordham’s women’s basketball team?”

“The squad was in the same room when you invited me.”

Sonny gives him a doubting glance—which is very rude of him—and offers to get food. Rafael lets the temptation of poor quality concessions and a Diet Coke lull the argument. Whether the rush to get out of the conversation is because he lost, or because their shoulders were brushing against each other a little too much, Rafael isn’t sure. He doesn’t allow himself much time to ponder on it anyway. Once Sonny stands and goes off to find food, the second quarter begins.

Even if he enjoyed—unadmittedly—Sonny’s presence next to him, Rafael finds it easier to let the steel exterior down for a bit and watch the basketball game. The gestures made by the refs remind him of Sonny’s own hands, though more uniform and not as wild or unorganized. He watches the teams’ reactions to understand how good the call was; when Syracuse’s bench claps, he knows Fordham pulled a move outside of basketball’s ruleset. The seriousness of the foul dictates whether or not the players go to a line in front of the basket for a few extra—and assumingly easy—points.

Rafael leans forward while Fordham falls behind; Syracuse is an extremely talented team. A single slip in Fordham’s offense allows for a steal and two more points for Syracuse. Fordham might have had a slight lead at the start of the quarter, but for a few solid minutes, they can’t connect to the basket. Syracuse has a rhythm, and they are committed to keeping their streak going.

He lets out a breath when finally— _finally_ —Fordham scores, but he is interrupted by the seat next to him becoming occupied again and the smell of nachos.

“Sorry for the wait,” Sonny sighs, trying to juggle the drinks and a box of M&Ms as he settles. Rafael takes the drinks with a nod of gratitude. “Got swept up in another game.” He’s eyeing the score and grimacing as he hands Rafael the box of chocolate candy. “Yikes. That’s not good.”

“Syracuse is in a groove,” Rafael states. He puts the candy aside, for now, already forming a question for why it had even ended up in his hands. “I think Fordham is overwhelmed. I hope this isn’t typical of your team.”

Sonny watches the game for a bit, idly fiddling with a chip. “Not that I know of. I mean, we’re a little school in the Atlantic Ten, y’know? We’re not playing big teams every year like Notre Dame or Louisville.”

“You’re good enough to get in the tournament.”

“Yeah.”

Fordham misses a few threes, though Syracuse struggles to connect to the basket as well. Rafael finds the entertaining lull his chance. “Who’s the candy for?”

“You.” Sonny doesn’t take his eyes off of the court.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“I thought you’d like it. It’s called a nice gesture.”

Rafael tears the wrapping off of the box, fumbling to get one out. Fordham misses another three, but they’re able to rebound it and grab a foul on the way there. Sonny nods at the call and softly nudges Rafael.

“Do you know what they called?”

Rafael looks at him as if to ask why he would even suggest that he did. Sonny just smiles in return and offers a nacho. They share little quips about the players or surrounding fans, and Sonny provides a few fun facts about Fordham’s team and the more intricate rules of basketball. Their knuckles touch when they both reach for a nacho, but if either is bothered by it, they master an aura of dismissal.

The last two minutes of the second quarter bring Fordham closer to Syracuse. Sonny jumps out of his seat and nearly spills the nachos when Fordham lands a three, and then another in their next possession. Rafael excuses himself as the quarter ends to go to the bathroom, but over the cheers of a rather impressive block from Fordham with two seconds left, he doubts Sonny hears him. All in all, with the game halfway done, Rafael has found it enjoyable. The fouls are more difficult to decipher than errors or strikes in baseball, but it is much easier to wrap his head around it. He had been making a joke when he called it an extorted and competitive game of Hot Potato, but there was some truth to it.

When Rafael returns, Sonny is talking on the phone, and halftime is already underway. He gives Rafael a brief but bright smile at his return and tries to get off the phone with the other person.

“Rollins, I gotta go, the team’s coming back out, oh look, there they are!” Sonny declares as he hangs up the phone and pockets it. Rafael isn’t surprised to hear Amanda on the other line, although he wonders if she was truly calling in to check on the game. Didn’t she say she would be watching it? “So, how was, uh, your trip?”

Rafael snorts. “Delightful. If I could take another trip to the bathroom, I would.”

“Alright, you don’t have to be smart about it.” Sonny offers him the nacho tray, all but gone save for a few crumbs, and finishes them off when Rafael declines. “Amanda wanted to see how we were doing.”

“Oh did she?”

Sonny nods. “She’s watching the game with Fin.” His lips quirk up in a smile. “Jessie keeps on looking for us.”

“Precious. And if that’s true, then I’d bet money that your excuse for getting off the phone was not taken well then.” Rafael tosses a handful of M&Ms into his mouth, more as a way to distract himself from the choking next to him.

Sonny wipes away the droplets of Coke that fell on his chin. “C’mon, do you have to call me out like that?”

“You haven’t denied my claim. Interesting.”

“You can talk to nosy coworkers next time. I’m tired of them.”

Rafael wonders what it means, but he stops himself from asking it. There is a time and place for those inquiries. Maybe later, after the game. When it was just the two of them and a hotel room. “Just be honest with them. Maybe they’ll back off.”

“What, you think I haven’t tried?”

“No. But if their questions are really bugging you, maybe you should do something about it instead of complaining to me.”

Sonny doesn’t say anything. He nibbles on his lower lip and shifts uncomfortably. For a second, Rafael is sure he won’t get an answer, and he doesn’t blame him. Rita loved to bog him down with endless and meaningless questions, even if she wasn’t actually a coworker, and that included when he would make actual progress with Sonny. If the other detectives were unconsciously mimicking Rita, it wouldn’t be surprising. The best one can do is ignore them, change the subject, and keep a conversation like that away from prying eyes and thoughts.

Rafael feels a hand on his, soft and warm, reminiscent of the nights they have spent under covers and avoiding their questions. That same hand has draped itself over his back, clawing at skin with each movement forward; pinned down his wrist to level thrusts from above, or gripped his hips from below for the same effect; held his chin for a stray kiss, one last one, before their activities finish and any notion of intimacy vanishes. Rafael turns his hand over to tangle his fingers with Sonny’s, but he keeps his gaze forward. At the very least, he can show his agreement, or his approval, or anything that shows he too wants to stop running around the question.

They break apart when the teams return to the court. Rafael shares some of his candy with Sonny when the third quarter starts. The basketball game takes a little longer to get started than in the previous quarters. Fordham doesn’t score for three minutes, and once they do, they work on limiting Syracuse and making up the point difference. Unfortunately, the fourth quarter is all orange and Syracuse, and when Rafael takes a moment to calculate it, he is saddened to realize Fordham only made up seven points. It does nothing to stop Syracuse, and the game ends well for them, scoring thirty points ahead of the Rams.

“Man, that was tough,” Sonny huffs as they make their way up the steps from the bleachers and into the lobbying area. “I mean, I knew we had a battle ahead of us, but I didn’t think we’d go down that hard, y’know?”

“It was a heartbreaker,” Rafael agrees. He isn’t sure if that phrase would be used in this sense, but Sonny doesn’t correct him, nor does he disagree, so Rafael assumes the best. “But it was still interesting, despite the loss.”

“You think so?” Sonny’s smile practically creates a new set of dimples with how intense it is. “You really liked it?”

“I could see myself watching another game.”

“I’m hosting the championship game this year! You’re more than welcome to come over. Fin brings the best wine, Amanda’s got apps, Nick FaceTimes us from California. Lieu stopped by last year, and she and Noah actually stayed for the whole game. You’d like it.”

“Maybe.” If it was just the two of them, he would have zero objections, since they could do something more than watching basketball. But that might not be appropriate to voice just yet. In a reality unlike theirs, where they are without time for making time and are more capable of conversation, Rafael might have made the admission.

 

* * *

 

Sonny checks them into their hotel for the night while Rafael searches for a place to eat. The town of Syracuse is rather nice and surprisingly large, and there are plenty of options to choose from for dinner. Rafael gets a bit too engrossed in the list, but he has no objections to the hand on his lower back that guides him forward.

“You might be surprised, but there are plenty of Thai and Italian options,” Rafael muses quietly while they wait for the elevator. Sonny doesn’t respond, probably distracted by something else or choosing not to respond. “They even have a place named after you.” Rafael points to a restaurant called Dominick’s for Sonny to see. It almost looks like he was the object under the gaze of clear blue eyes, but Rafael refuses to put hope into something trivial like that.

“I might have to sue for royalties,” Sonny teases, smiling.

“I’ll hire a lawyer to help you out.”

“What, you can’t give up fighting rapists and pedophiles for one day to help me out?”

“I don’t think my criminal expertise will carry over for this.”

The elevator stops, and Rafael returns to his phone, Sonny once again leading him so that he isn’t stuck in the elevator. Rafael is still scrolling through his phone for restaurant options; he expects another lead into their hotel room, but all he hears is the beep from the keycard unlocking their door and nothing else. He looks up, straight into Sonny’s eyes, and he realizes why they have yet to move.

Sonny is staring at him. Not waiting for an answer, or not wondering when he’ll look up. His gaze radiates with silent patience and admiration that is meant specifically for him. Rafael feels warm under it, and he forgets about finding a place to eat. He didn’t realize until they started their fling just how beautiful Sonny’s eyes were. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled and hid them, and when he was in thought, his brow furrowed just enough to shroud them. But when they were close enough, and neither of those were a problem, Rafael could appreciate the shimmer of blue, the soft tone that wandered over his face for any sign of discomfort, that watched him walk out of the room for a bit too long. It made sense that Sonny would have beautiful eyes. It matched his jovial personality, keeping perfect rhythm with his feet and his hands and—

Rafael breaks himself out of his daze. He hurriedly takes the keycard from Sonny and gets the door open before he pulls Sonny inside. As soon as the door closes, Rafael pulls Sonny to his chest. Sonny had already made a step towards him, but the hurried movement closes the distance between their mouths much quicker. He tastes familiar, like returning home after a long day at work, or a meal cooked in the vicinity of his kitchen with a recipe passed through generations. Rafael hopes the hammering of his heart cannot be felt, but he knows the hope is for naught when Sonny pulls back to smile at him.

Being mad would be easier if the dimples weren’t so damn convincing.

“Nervous?” He asks, a bit sheepish but mostly with mirth lacing his words.

Rafael shakes his head. “I think excited would be the right word, but I would hate to inflate your ego.”

Sonny perks up at that, and he wraps his arms tightly around Rafael’s waist. “Too late.” He walks backward until they reach a bed, their suitcases forgotten at the door, and he takes a seat on the edge. Rafael presses a knee on the bed, right next to Sonny’s thigh, but falls just short of falling into his lap. He was a master of playing hard to get, after all.

He does, however, dive forward and press open-mouthed kisses along Sonny’s neck. He brushes his coat off to easily reach his collar bone, peeking out from his shirt. The encouraging pants and soft groans above him are incentive to keep going, and Rafael drags his hands down Sonny’s hips. They provide a firm sense of reality, the fact that this is everything but fake. And maybe he enjoys the shift for more contact, but that doesn’t have to be pointed out.

“Maybe…” Sonny trails off, and Rafael peels himself away to see his eyes blown wide, almost crossed by the pleasure previously attached to his neck, “we should talk.”

“About?” Rafael refuses to say the words. He knows they will have to bring it up—months of avoiding it were, after all, not very ideal. One of them will have to give in and be the first to say something. And when Sonny doesn’t respond or move to touch him as he always has, Rafael has a sinking feeling that this will be that moment. “Are you not satisfied?”

Sonny doesn’t immediately respond; he fiddles with his hands, his fingers drumming together lightly, just enough for Rafael to feel the vibrations on his back. For a split second, Rafael is scared that he will end their affection, show that they were nothing but little explorations in their relationship and any remnants of love are unrequited. But when Sonny looks at him, Rafael can see the genuine hope and burning desire that words could not form. “I’m not satisfied. Not because I don’t want this, because I do.” His laugh is airy, and he leans forward to press against his forehead. “I want you _so_ much, Rafael.”

“But you want more,” Rafael finishes for him. “From me.”

“From us.”

Rafael smiles, more to reassure him than anything else, and kisses the prominent point of his nose. Previously, he has made a show of kissing Sonny before their orgasms, when his mind is fuddled by quick hands that can’t ever stop moving and the press of his body against his. Showing affection in that way is foreign and far beyond their vocabulary, but at the same time, nothing feels different. He could have been doing it for months, for years, for all he knew. “Are you asking me out?”

“Well, yeah, I guess you could say I am.” Sonny shifts and presses a hand in the middle of his back, right in Rafael’s weak spot. He curls back like a cat, on instinct, and just about bites back a purr of pleasure. When Sonny had first found out how weak he was to that spot, they spent half a day in bed. Their last round of sex hadn’t even included any traditional forms—just pure rutting and Sonny’s hand ghosting against the spot over and over, milking sounds out of him that only a spot like that could produce. “I was thinking more of, like, partners, y’know? So yeah, dating, but we’d also be exclusive.”

“Mm. Boyfriends. Partners.” He runs a hand through Sonny’s hair, smirking at the stray lock that falls past the gel and drops on his forehead. “I’ll be whatever you want. Exclusivity and all.”

“Don’t do it for me! You should do it because you want to.” Sonny’s voice gets faster and higher in pitch, definitely a show of nerves and the beginning signs of him backing out. His eyes are wide with the fear now, and he looks about ready to push Rafael off and bolt out of the room. “Look, I know this whole fling has been fun, and, yeah, I enjoyed myself, and I like to think we got the sex aspect on lockdown, but I don’t need it to be happy with you, y’know? And I don’t want it to be the only way we find happiness in each other, so just tell me now if you wanna end this, and we can go our separate ways and never—”

Rafael thought of cutting him off with a kiss, but he finds it a bit too cliche, so he opts for hugging Sonny as tightly as he can. Thankfully, it does enough to stop Sonny’s ramble and also helps push Rafael further into him. Rafael kisses his temple, caressing the back of his head softly, and he feels a jolt of happiness as Sonny mimics the affection on his cheek. He enjoyed kissing Sonny in the heat of passion, but the thought of doing it whenever they feel, whether it be a morning gesture with lips or soft pecks in passing, is more appealing than he can ever remember.

“If you’re asking me to be your partner, I am more than happy to oblige,” Rafael whispers to him. Sonny shivers at the soft voice, but his shoulders relax from the tension. “When we get back to the city, we can disclose, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that a lot.” He can feel Sonny’s smile. It is just as good a feeling as witnessing it, but he still moves back to witness the stretch of lips and deepened dimples for himself. “It’d make it a helluva lot easier on us, too. Sneaking around was fun, but I like kissing you.”

“I’ve noticed. I’m surprised you would use your mouth for anything other than talking.”

“I can use it for a lot more than that, and you know it.”

Oh, does he. Rafael pinches his side for the reference, but Sonny just falls back and brings him crashing into the covers behind him.

They don’t go out for dinner. They order takeout from one of the restaurants Rafael had found and cuddle on the bed, watching some superhero movie that Rafael heard so much about but never got around to understanding. The stories reached across to other movies in the franchise so often that with his job, it was difficult to track. And how Sonny was able to manage, he doesn’t think he can begin to understand.

Rafael asks him as much, but Sonny just shrugs and pops another dumpling in his mouth. “I caught them when they came out, and I rewatched them with Amanda when she started getting into it. And Jessie likes them too, so it helps all of us.”

“Wins all around.” He had rested his head on Sonny’s shoulder, enjoying the proximity of their arms and the warmth of his body. “Does Jessie watch basketball?”

“Nah, she hasn’t gotten into it yet. I hope she does when she’s older, for Amanda’s sake. If that kid doesn’t think March Madness is a proper holiday or accept the Braves as the superior baseball team, Amanda might disown her.”

Rafael laughs at that, not putting it past Rollins to do something outrageous like that. And he certainly can’t help but admire how close the two have become. He knows the pair look out for each other, no matter the circumstances, and it makes worrying about the dangers of a detective a bit easier on him. “When she gets nosy again, I’ll be sure to deflect with my knowledge of basketball. It’ll keep her off your case.”

Sonny raises an eyebrow, a mixture of impressed and shock. “You’re still on about that?”

“You said they were nosy. Not me. And I was the one who suggested you put their nosiness to rest.”

“Do you always stroke your ego like this, or did you not get to inflate it this morning?”

Rafael elbows him, though the smile on both their faces contradicts the harsh move. “I’ll answer that when you stop stealing my snark.”

They finish the movie—it actually wasn’t that bad—and Rafael starts to fall asleep on Sonny’s shoulder. They clean up their dinner, Rafael changing into sleepwear while Sonny pulls the covers of the bed back and waits for him to return, stripping to his boxers and throwing on an old t-shirt from the police academy. When Rafael gets to the edge of the bed, Sonny flops down and reaches out, pulling him down for a kiss. They don’t do much else besides cuddling, but Rafael doesn’t mind. He is okay with holding Sonny close and running a hand through his hair. After all, they have all the time in the world.


End file.
